


Hearts Are A Type Of Card

by QueenHarleyQuinn



Category: I Am The Night (TV 2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Hope, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Road Trips, Running Away, except fauna’s 18 and Jay is slightly younger, if age difference squicks you don’t read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 13:00:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20639576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenHarleyQuinn/pseuds/QueenHarleyQuinn
Summary: “They were running away together. Suitcase-less and covered in blood and dirt. Barely more than seventy dollars between them and most of it is Jay’s.“—Get in the car and never look back. Drive as fast and as far as you can.





	Hearts Are A Type Of Card

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on my phone so any and all mistakes are likely a result of that. I’m also posting on my phone, which isn’t the brightest idea either.
> 
> I know this fandom is small and dead but I had these words and wanted share them. If you’re alive and reading this sound off in the comments and leave a kudos.

Fauna looked up at him like he was something worth looking at and, Christ, if he didn’t sort of hate that. And love it. And hate himself for loving it. And love himself for hating it.

He really was a goddamn mess, wasn’t he? Not worth looking at in the slightest.

But there she was, emerald eyes and all. God, if he was poet he could write sonnets about those eyes that were like sea glass and how they glimmered with hope and sadness and loss.

But he’s not a poet. He’s not even a reporter anymore.

He was nothing. Hell, he was worse than nothing because at least nothing is the absence of a thing. He’s  _there_ , he exists and therefore he’s been fucking up ever since.

“Are we going to talk about this?” Jay asks, fingers tight on the steering wheel.

_This_ being that they were driving upstate in a rental car that he paid for in cash (nearly twice the normal amount so that he could bribe the guy behind the counter to “misplace” the paperwork).

They were running away together. Suitcase-less and covered in blood and dirt. Barely more than seventy dollars between them and most of it is Jay’s. 

“Are you going to make me?” She counters.

Fuck, does that hurt. He wants to scream,  _when the fuck have I ever made you do anything_ _?_ Jay might be terrible and awful in all his own ways but he’s not that kind of monster. He’s not George Hodel.

“No, I’m not going to make you,” Jay mentally applauds himself for saying it calmly and not like he’s on the verge of losing his mind. Again. He’s lost it several times now, let’s be honest.

She doesn’t look totally convinced and that hurts too, so he tries again. “You hold all the cards, kid. You. Not me, not anybody else in LA or in Nevada or heaven or hell. It’s all you.”

Is it dramatic? Yes. Is it how he really feels? God, absolutely.

It’s her, it’s all her. Gone is that pathetic high schooler desperately searching for a family. And maybe, now that he’s really thinking about it, she was never pathetic to begin with. She’s a real rebel - a bandit, a runaway, a survivor.

Besides, of course she’s the one to hold all the cards. Her hands are steady and her fingers are nimble. Jay’s hands shake when he’s really jonesing. 

“We should go to Hawaii.” She says, like they’re planning vacation and not starting their lives over.

“Thinkin’ about running back to your mother-“

She shakes her head sternly, “She may have birthed me but that woman is no mother.”

Jay nods, makes a mental note to not pick at that scab, and says, “What makes you think we have enough money to get to Hawaii?”

She grins, a little mischief and fire in her eyes when she does. Those nimble fingers reach into the pocket of the shirt she’s wearing - his shirt - and reveals a money clip padded with hundreds. 

They know who it belongs to but they refuse to say his name out loud.

“Shit, what else have you been holding out on me?” He says, surprised and not angry in the slightest.

She giggles and she’s a senior in high school again. And maybe if Jay closed his eyes he could imagine annoying the shit out of her in algebra or u.s history. 

But he can’t close his eyes he’s the one driving. If they can get to Oakland or San Francisco they’ll ditch the car, buy two tickets to Hawaii and never look back.

“If I knew you were so flush with cash we would have gotten a better car.”

“The city is on fire, Jay,” she says, yawning and curling into the passengers seat as best she can. “We’re lucky we got this car at all.”

She’s right. 

“Hey, do me a favor before you nod off,” Jay says, glancing at her only once. “Find something good on the radio. We still have a few hundred miles to go as I’m going to lose it if the car stays this quiet.”

“It’s not so quiet if you keep talking.” She says, but fiddles with the knobs nonetheless.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you up with my blathering.”

She stills, “I’m tired but I don’t think I’m going to sleep. Not for a long time.”

And he gets that. Shit, does he get that. That sort of heavy boned exhaustion that wars with an ever active, ever alert and paranoid mind. 

Who could guess that the only other person he’d know with shell shock would be an eighteen year old girl? God, what a shame.

“Find something you like, then. It’s going to be a long drive.”


End file.
